


Sunset

by Rovelae



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Future Foundation, Kinda, M/M, Pining, Post-Game, but it was founded by Makoto so it's actually good, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rovelae/pseuds/Rovelae
Summary: There's something Kokichi has to tell him, if he's ever going to move on, if he's ever going to heal.





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the lack of content lately, if you've noticed - mental health took a nose dive at the beginning of summer and I'm still not at 100%. But I've been getting a bunch of nice comments lately that have really helped with my motivation, so have this fluffy thing that's been sitting in my WIPs for like a YEAR now.

_“I thought you said this was serious.”_

_"You’re the one who should be serious! If we don’t stop the nuclear strike, you’ll end up with an extra head and all your skin burnt off!”_

_“Guatemala doesn’t even _have _nuclear weapons,”_ _Rantaro sighed, folding his arms. “And I don’t own a private jet, so I couldn’t take you there to stop a missile launch anyway. You might as well tell me what’s really going on.”_

_Kokichi dropped the façade in favor of a blank expression colored by the hint of a smile. “Oh? You’re positive I’m lying? If I’m not, you’ll die. You know that, right?”_

_"I think I’ll be all right,” Rantaro replied evenly, scanning Kokichi’s face with his brows slightly furrowed._

_Kokichi grinned. “See, this is why I like you so much, Rantaro! You don’t freak out when someone says scary words like _die._ I guess being killed sooner has its perks if it means you don’t have quite as much trauma to deal with.”_

_Rantaro opened his mouth to retort that actually, being the sole survivor of one killing game, having his memories and personality erased, and then being forced into a second that ended early with him getting his skull caved in did, in fact, make his trauma comparable to the rest of them—but he stopped himself just in time, drawing in a slow, deep breath._

_Kokichi seemed to sense he’d gone too far, and an edge of guilt crept into his expression. “Sorry,” he muttered._

_"Is the killing game what you want to talk about?” Rantaro guessed, opting to change the subject instead of responding directly, and Kokichi’s head tipped to the side._

_“Hmm, why would you think that?”_

_“Because you’re being even more cagey than usual,” he said. “Is it about your murder?”_

_"I prefer to think of it as an elaborate co-suicide. And, nope! Guess again!”_

_“Okay, what about all the stuff that went down when you woke up?”_

_“Whaaat? The only interesting thing that happened after I woke up was how pissed the producers got when I threw the fire extinguisher at the TV.”_

_Rantaro nodded slowly as another idea dawned on him. “Do you want to talk about Shuichi?”_

_Kokichi’s expression froze into the same barely-there smile from before, his eyes never leaving Rantaro’s face._

_"You’re not as unreadable as you think you are, you know,” Rantaro said with a smile of his own. “So what’s wrong?”_

_“What’s wrong?” Kokichi repeated quietly, rocking back and forth on his heels. He stared at the ground for a while before he found the words._

_“I’m in love with him.”_

Ostentatious.

It had taken Shuichi a while to decide on that word. ‘Flamboyant’ and ‘pretentious’ didn’t feel sufficiently mature, while ‘opulent’ hadn’t seemed deliberate enough. So, then, the Togami family’s private resort was ostentatious—extravagant on purpose, but with generations of practice that made it all look effortless.

After taking his first step into the resort’s dining hall, though, he began to doubt that any words could describe it.

He stood in the doorway for a while, dazzled by the glow of crystal chandeliers that augmented the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Floral centerpieces crowned the tabletops, each a kaleidoscope of bright hues reminiscent of the tropical setting of the resort itself. Hundreds of people milled about in formal attire or sat talking at the tables, drinking something translucent gold in color and probably alcoholic. The Future Foundation had spared no expense for tonight’s festivities. Or, well, Byakuya Togami had spared no expense for the chance to put his wealth on display.

Shuichi tugged at his tie and let out a breath, scanning the room for anyone he recognized and simultaneously trying to avoid all eye contact. The same luxury was not afforded him, however; the doors had barely closed behind him and already his presence had sent a ripple of _That’s him? That’s Saihara, look!_ through the assembly of diners.

_This was a mistake,_ social anxiety screamed at him, and he was about to turn back to the door when a familiar voice called his name.

“Kirumi,” he sighed, and added a silent _thank goodness._ “It’s good to see you.”

“And you as well, Shuichi,” she said, inclining her head. “I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory?”

“Ah, I should have guessed you were in charge of that,” Shuichi laughed. “Everything was perfect. The towel animals were impressive, too.”

“I am glad you think so.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in her usual demure smile. “It is always a privilege to serve you. Please let me know if there is anything more I can do.”

“Well, actually, could you….” He gestured at the crowded tables. “I can’t, um, seem to find the others.”

“I see.” Kirumi brought a gloved hand to her mouth to hide another smile. “There is another door in that far corner that leads to a second ballroom. Our classmates have decided to enjoy their meal there to avoid some of the more … enthusiastic guests. If you will give me a moment to finish serving drinks, I would be happy to take you there,” she added.

“Oh—that’s all right, they shouldn’t be too hard to find. Thanks, Kirumi.”

“My pleasure. Best of luck.”

Best of luck. It hadn’t seemed like an odd thing to hear, mainly because Shuichi had thought she’d meant finding the others in the crowd. It turned out that getting to the door was the difficult part. For every step he took, another Future Foundation member appeared in front of him, shaking his hand with eyes full of veneration that made him wish he had a hat to hide behind.

“You are Saihara, yes? I am Aika Furoyama, the Former Ultimate Linguist from Class 32. It is an honor.”

“Um—! Hi, Shuichi! I’m … I’m Chikako, from Class 48. I was the Ultimate Mathematician! Um, it’s nice to meet you in real life!”

“Kimura, Former Ultimate Surgeon, Class 14. Thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Saihara.”

“You have r-really pretty eyes, Saihara-san!”

By the time Shuichi closed the doors to the second ballroom behind him, the attention had tinted his cheeks pink.

The brighter lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows in this ballroom gave it a much more relaxed atmosphere, and the few diners and resort employees at the tables seemed content to keep to themselves rather than gawk at him. Shuichi’s gaze passed over the hall, and his relief compounded when he caught sight of, at last, some familiar faces occupying a couple of booths near the wall.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” Rantaro chuckled upon his approach.

From her seat in the second booth, Tenko turned around to huff an indignant “Leave it to a male degenerate to be _unfashionably_ late!”

Gonta’s eyes widened. “Shuichi’s fashion make him late?”

“Don’t worry about it, big guy,” Ryoma sighed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting,” Shuichi said. “People kept making me sign things…. Ah, can I … sit with you guys, or…?”

The occupants of both booths hesitated.

"There’s no room,” Maki said flatly.

“And we’re not allowing any _men_ at our table,” Tenko chimed in with a scoff.

Shuichi frowned. “Hold on—Gonta, Kiibo, and Ryoma are all men.”

“Nyeh … Well, Gonta is a gentleman, so he’s fine,” Himiko said. “Kiibo doesn’t count because he’s a robot—”

“H-hey! That’s robophobic—!”

“And God says it’s fine if Ryoma stays!” Angie finished, clapping her hands with a giggle.

“Fine,” Shuichi relented, turning back to the first booth. “But, if there’s room for Miu to be lying down—”

“Shuichi, that’s kind of rude, don’t you think?” Kaede pouted. “It’s important for Miu to get her beauty rest, especially before a big meal.”

“I’m doing you a favor, Shuichi,” Miu cackled from her position resting her head on Kaede’s lap. “If I don’t maintain my gorgeous figure, there’d be nothing for you to ogle!”

“I’m not— But I—” Shuichi shot a help-me glance at Kaito, who shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty.

“Sorry, man. Nothing I can do.”

“Maybe you’ll find a better seat outside,” Rantaro suggested. “Best of luck.”

Shuichi was getting tired of hearing that phrase.

He left the rest of the group and made his way to the outside balcony, a massive fourth-story patio every bit as extravagant as the rest of the resort. It was all stately marble and red-flowered vines, overlooking a plane of white sand and a sparkling ocean. It was also completely deserted.

Ah, except for one table.

Kokichi stopped trying to balance the five forks on top of each other when the balcony door opened, and that alien _fluttery_ feeling returned to the pit of his stomach when Shuichi caught his eye with a barely-concealed look of relief.

_Oh, no._

He looked _amazing._

Kokichi tossed him a wave as he approached, trying not to stare at the way the taper of his midnight-blue suit flattered his waist, or how well his tie matched the gold of his eyes. “You’re just in time, Shuichi!” he said, holding up a couple of the forks. “I hope you’ve brushed up on your formal table manners, because I can’t remember which one is the soup fork!”

“A soup fork? Is that how you’re supposed to eat it here?” Shuichi asked as he took the chair across from him.

“Rich people do things differently. You never know.”

“Any idea why just the two of us got kicked out?”

Kokichi shrugged. “Who knows?”

_"What—what’s with that look? I-I just came out of the closet … a-and big brother Rantaro doesn’t even care—!”_

_Kokichi burst into excessively loud tears. Rantaro just shook his head, chuckling softly._

_“How could you be so cruel? I _trusted_ youuu!”_

_“Kokichi, were you ever in the closet to begin with?”_

_The crying stopped immediately, and Kokichi smirked. “Fine, you got me.”_

_"I didn’t peg you as the sort of guy who’d be interested in a relationship, though,” Rantaro admitted, tugging at his bangs. “You’re serious, then? It really wouldn’t be funny to joke about—”_

_“Rantaro, you’re the only one I can talk to about this,” Kokichi interrupted, his face going completely blank._

_And Rantaro’s eyes went wide as Kokichi said the words he’d never imagined he would hear him say._

_“I need your help.”_

“What do they call this stuff again?” Kokichi frowned at the menu card. “Visha … vitchy-soy?”

“Well, if it’s French, most of the letters are probably going to be silent,” Shuichi mused, inspecting the cream-colored soup as he stirred it with what they’d designated as the soup fork. “I think … vee-shoy?”

Kokichi snickered, taking an experimental bite. “Is it supposed to be cold?”

“I think so, actually.”

“Huh. It’s not so bad! That was a lie, I think it’s poisoned.”

“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to the third course.”

“Third? You mean we get _more_ food after this?”

“There are actually five…. Ah, assuming we live that long,” Shuichi said with a wry grin. “Doesn’t it say that on the menu card?”

Kokichi whistled. _“Well,_ Shuichi, I don’t know where you’re planning on putting five dinners, but if you really think you can pack it down….”

“Kokichi?” Shuichi seemed to recognize that his voice had slipped into a more mischievous tone.

“…Then let’s make a contest out of it! Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually secretly the Ultimate Competitive Eater!”

“Is that … even a thing people do? Eat competitively, I mean?”

"Absolutely, and I’ve got seventeen Olympic gold medals to prove it!” Kokichi said, then gasped in mock horror. “Y-you’re thinking that I don’t have the physique for such an honorable and important profession, aren’t you? How cruel can you _be,_ Mr. Detective?”

_That_ got a laugh out of him— Shuichi’s gentle and achingly sincere laugh that sent the butterflies right back to Kokichi’s stomach.

They slipped into their familiar banter, the same dance of words they’d found themselves in so many times during the game, Kokichi dodging every question thrown his way but at the same time watching Shuichi pick up on every clue he let slip. Talking with Shuichi came so _easily,_ even when— maybe especially when— the other boy seemed able to surprise him at every turn. It was as if every time he put up another wall, Shuichi could find a way past it, eyes alight with interest as he searched for glimpses of the real _him_ behind all the riddles and plastered-on smiles.

How … _intoxicating,_ being _seen,_ being _known._

Three more courses came and went, but Kokichi barely noticed—at least, until the servers brought out dessert and his sweet tooth snapped him back into the moment to inspect something outrageously decadent and smothered in chocolate. “That’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day,” he lied, already taking a massive bite. He immediately had to struggle to stifle a moan. “They're gonna kill me.”

“You don't have to eat the whole thing, you know,” Shuichi said, taking a miniscule forkful of the whatever-it-was. His eyes immediately went wide and he mumbled out a soft _“Oh.”_

“I never back down from a challenge,” Kokichi declared, shoveling in another mouthful. “Not with my honor on the line!”

But unfortunately for Kokichi's honor, four previous courses seemed to have taken a toll on his stamina; he barely managed to get halfway through the sugary monstrosity before he put his face in his hands with a quiet groan of _“Whoa._ This thing is richer than Togami.”

“I don't know if I can handle it,” Shuichi agreed. “Maybe we should admit defeat?”

Kokichi hummed and stabbed his fork into the remains of the pastry like a flag of surrender. “If Shuichi thinks it's for the best, then I will step down as champion.”

“I just don't want you to get sick….”

“So sweet, Mr. Detective! But you're right, I'm at my limit.” He leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “So, what now?”

“Hm.” Shuichi curved his index finger under his chin. “Well, I think Mr. Hinata's giving a speech in a while, and then….”

Kokichi whined. “Ugh, that sounds _so_ _unbearably_ _boring….”_

“Ah, it's probably something about the Foundation, though—”

“We'll hear all about it from the others later, I'm sure,” he said with a grin. “Hey, Shuichi, come play hooky with me!”

Shuichi bit his lip. “I don't know… we might miss something important.”

"Come on, you don't want to be there any more than I do.” Kokichi bounded out of the chair and toward the balcony. “Look, we'll have the whole beach to ourselves! And with this romantic sunset, too! Run away with me, beloved!”

Shuichi flushed a lovely shade of red, but stood up as well. “If you really think it'll be okay, then … all right, let's go.”

_"I… yeah, of course I’ll help,” Rantaro said. “I’m … maybe not the best person to ask, but I’ll help in any way I can.”_

_Kokichi let out a soft breath in a _whoosh,_ looking as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He kept his gaze on the floor, though, so Rantaro added, “You all right?”_

_An odd experience, seeing someone as vocal as Kokichi lost for words. The shorter boy shrugged. “Nervous, I guess,” he muttered at last._

_Rantaro hummed. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve fallen for probably the nicest guy any of us know, so the worst thing he could possibly do is tell you he isn’t interested.”_

_"That doesn’t actually help.”_

_"Ahaha, I guess not…. I think the most important thing is to be genuine with how you tell him. I know that’s not your forte, but it might be the best tactic for someone like Shuichi—”_

_"Rantaro, that isn’t… I’m….” Kokichi sighed again, but his frustration didn’t seem directed at Rantaro. “It’s not … a confession I’m going for. Not this time, anyway.”_

_"Then why….” Rantaro trailed off. This was more honesty than he'd ever seen from Kokichi, and the whole conversation felt … fragile. Like if he pushed too hard, Kokichi would recoil with a ‘Wow, Rantaro sure is dumb if he can't see through an act like that!’ and run away._

_He let the silence ask the question for him, which seemed to be the right choice. Kokichi chewed his thumbnail and muttered, “I just… I need to know if I… if he could ever find it in him to forgive me.”_

Kokichi didn't think he'd ever seen a sky so colorful before. Yellow and red burned over the horizon, fading to indigo in the east, and the setting sun cast a rosy blush over the sand. Its light glittered across an ocean tinted purple and stretched out the shadows of the sandpipers scurrying between the waves. It was beautiful, stunning, breathtaking, any of those flowery words… but no words could describe the one walking beside him.

Shuichi’s eyes— they were always so, _so_ golden, weren’t they?— they practically _glowed_ in this light, sending sparks racing down Kokichi’s spine whenever they met his. What would it feel like to get lost in them? To drown in that glorious luster of molten amber?

“—Said that whales pass by here on their migration route this time of year,” Shuichi was saying. “Maybe we’ll be able to see some.”

Crap— was he staring? Kokichi shook his head to clear it and tried ineffectually to turn his attention to the waves lapping at the posts of the pier. “I’m more worried about the mermaids’ migration route. Detectives are their favorite food, you know. If they find us….”

No, no, that wasn’t what he’d wanted to say—

“Maybe we could scare them off with something?”

“Sure! You find some firecrackers and I’ll summon Cthulhu. One of those is bound to work!”

They walked the pier out beyond the waves, talking about nothing, close enough that Kokichi could catch hints of the tantalizing scent of whatever cologne Shuichi had used. Close enough that if he reached out, he could entwine their fingers. Would Shuichi let him?

_Focus, focus!_

“Shuichi,” he breathed, but his heart lurched up into his throat and choked him into silence.

“Hm?”

_Retreat!_

“H-have you ever, uh … tried to eat a clock?”

“Have I… what?”

“It’s very time-consuming.”

Shuichi’s laugh, musical, angelic, brushed aside every thought in Kokichi’s head. What had he ever, _ever_ done to deserve to hear that sound? He wanted Shuichi to laugh _forever._

…Hold on. Wasn’t there a point to all this? Something he had to do? He had to say it, had to _know—_

They’d reached the end of the pier. Shuichi rested his forearms on the railing overlooking the ocean, and Kokichi did the same without really thinking about it, both of them sighing into the breeze that drifted in from the horizon.

_Now or never,_ he told himself. _On the count of three. One… two…._

“Hey, Kokichi?”

“Thr— ah, yeah?”

Shuichi chewed his lip, letting out a shaky breath and straightening up. “I’m… I’ve, um, been meaning to tell you….” He turned to let their eyes meet. “I-I just wanted to say that I’m really glad you’re alive.”

Kokichi’s thoughts crashed to a halt.

_"Do you… really think Shuichi’s the kind of person to hold a grudge?”_

_Kokichi shook his head absently. “Doesn’t matter. If you try as hard as I did, you can make anybody hate you. Even I….”_

_He trailed off, and Rantaro’s brow furrowed again._

_"Everybody’s compassion has a limit,” Kokichi muttered._

_"That’s not an answer.”_

_“I don’t….” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t feel like lying about this. To myself or to you.”_

_“So, either way, you need to hear it from him.”_

_A soft hum of agreement was Kokichi’s only response. _

Shuichi had always been able to catch him off guard. That was part of why he’d fallen for him, after all.

So why was it so alarming that a few small words had stripped away his every defense?

_I’m glad you’re alive._

It echoed in Kokichi’s head over and over, and it made no sense how Shuichi could speak with a sincerity that left him utterly breathless, how he could steal away Kokichi’s every coherent thought just as he’d stolen his heart right out of his chest. He couldn’t lie, couldn’t even _think,_ as Shuichi’s words took him apart in the most gentle of ways.

“I know I didn’t really act like that in the game, even after you … you know,” Shuichi said, looking away. “I wish I’d known… I wish I’d _understood_ back then how much you were doing for us. How hard you were working to save everyone, all by yourself. You must have been really lonely.”

Kokichi stared, pulse beating in his ears, throat painfully tight.

The detective tugged at his sleeves, smoothing out wrinkles that weren’t there. “Kaede says I shouldn’t, but… I-I kind of feel responsible for how things turned out for you. I mean, I guess we’re all at fault, a little, but … but I shouldn’t have let it happen the way it did.”

What _was_ this? How did Shuichi _do these things_ to him?

“The more I thought about that, the more I was glad that you were alive s-so that I … so I could tell you I’m sorry for everything I said.” He slowly unclenched his fists, then turned back to Kokichi and immediately jolted. “A-are you crying?”

Was he? Kokichi automatically swiped his sleeve over his eyes—ah, he was. He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a tiny sob. “Ah, they—they’re just fake tears, dummy,” he mumbled into his arm. “I can … I can stop any time I want, see?”

But more hot tears sprang to his eyes, so he kept his face hidden in the crook of his elbow. He heard Shuichi shift closer. “You’re, um, still crying a little….”

So Kokichi gave up and threw his arms around Shuichi instead, trying not to shake as much as he probably did when Shuichi returned the hug and rested his chin on top of his head.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Shuichi whispered to him.

"There’s nothing to forgive,” Kokichi returned, “but if it makes you feel better, then, of course.”

Shuichi sighed into his hair. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“… It’s okay.”

“I did some really horrible things to you guys.”

“It’s okay, Kokichi.” A hand at the back of his head, carding gently through his hair. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”

And for the first time since he’d woken up in the locker in the killing game, everything_ was._

_Rantaro folded his arms. “Will you accept it?” he asked. “If Shuichi forgives you, will that be enough for you to forgive yourself?”_

_Kokichi twirled a lock of his hair. “Hmm… Shuichi is… an exceptionally bad liar.”_

_“You’re still not answering, Kokichi.”_

_“Nishishi!” Kokichi laced his fingers behind his head, looking, for a second, like his old self. “Maybe you just weren’t listening. Shuichi’s the worst liar ever … and that means I can believe anything he says.”_

“Hey, Shuichi?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we… start over? I mean … get to know each other for real this time?”

Shuichi smiled, as bright as the sun. As bright as hope.

“I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rantaro's real talent is Ultimate Wingman don't @ me  
Inspired in part by that adorable episode of Assassination Classroom (S2 E1, I think...?)  
P.S. The first course was _vichyssoise,_ pronounced vish-ee-swaz.


End file.
